


Behind Enemy Lines

by Alvara



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Punk!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-03
Updated: 2012-07-03
Packaged: 2017-11-09 02:23:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/450209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alvara/pseuds/Alvara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A murder comes back to haunt a punk bar in the deep underground of a heavily populated city, leading the Winchesters into a complex hunt buried in twenty seven years of vengeance and obsession. Sam and Dean will have to go undercover to dig deep into the past of this case, but will they be able to cope when they discover more than just the reason why someone or something is killing every punk in town?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

\---

TWENTY SEVEN YEARS AGO

The body slid to a sickening stop at the bottom of the ditch, the thin sheets covering it soaking up mud and water as an arm fell from its folds, blood caked in heavy globs along the skin. The rain plastered the thin fabric to the naked body quickly, thunder booming loudly in the dark twisting clouds above as the three figures stood at the edge of the broken pavement of the rural road. A heavy huff left the shortest one before it turned back to the parked car.

“Seth, are you should we should be doing this?” The tallest man said, turning to Seth as he tugged on the leather of his jacket in an effort to shield himself more from the cold.

“Hey, what they don’t know can’t hurt us, man.”

“Yeah, but he’s just a kid.” The words had barely left his mouth before Seth reared on him, grabbing the lapels of his jacket and yanking the taller man down until he was close enough that the spikes of his snake bite piercings were close to digging into his chin.

“Do you want to go to jail, Hanten?! It’s not just your ass on the line here. It’s mine and Kaz’s too!” Seth pulled harshly on the leather before shoving Hanten back to his full height, and turning back to the car. “Stephen was already a step away from ditching his fat ass of a father. He just decided to run away tonight. Got it?” The last two words were spat through gritted teeth, harsh enough to make Hanten flinch a little.

He nodded, his eyes settling on a puddle forming in a pothole in the road. He jumped a little as a fishnet covered palm landed on his shoulder, lightly giving it a squeeze.

“It’ll be alright, Han. You were just taking care of Sara all night while Seth and I went to the bars. We all have people to vouch for us.” Kaz walked around to flash her flirtatious grin at him, her piercings glinting in the headlights of their car. “Now let’s head back to the Matchbook, listen to some kick ass music, and wind down from how shitty this night turned out.”

“Thanks, Kaz.”

“No problem.” She patted his bare chest lightly before meeting Seth in the car already blasting the Sex Pistols loud enough to be heard from across county lines.

Hanten only hesitated long enough to glance back at the mangled body in the ditch before faking a smile and joining his friends.

\---

\---

PRESENT DAY

“Thank you for speaking with me, Miss Brook. I know it’s a difficult time for you but I would like to ask you some questions about your uncle’s death.”

The blond woman nodded, frown lines deep and her eyes red from lack of sleep and mourning. Sam shifted slightly on the tan couch, feeling a bit off balance with interviewing the last living relative of the latest and strangest death out of the group of recent murders in the city. It didn’t help that he was also playing the ‘distraction’ while Dean cased the old man’s house for any reason he was found ripped to shreds outside a local bar with evidence of some pretty foul play.

“He was found outside a local bar in downtown. Did he go there very often or meet with someone there frequently?” Sam wrung his hands lightly, wondering if he should have presented himself as something higher up than state police with the body count this case held.

“No. He would never go there. He hated that place.” Miss Brook bit her bottom lip, looking close to tears again as she glanced at the floor before meeting Sam’s eyes again. “He was a nice man, Officer Simmons. He didn’t do anything to deserve this.”

“Why did he hate the bar so much?” Sam pressed, noticing the young woman looked a bit more fidgety when it was mentioned. Miss Brook hesitated for a long moment, looking around her living room before sighing and giving in.

“He lost his son to a group of punks that hung out there often about twenty or so years ago. He never forgave them when Stephen went missing. Tried to get the police interested in the case but they just dismissed it as another runaway. The place is kind of known for it.” She twisted the tissue she had been using to wipe her tears between her fingers in her pause. “After a while, he stopped trying. He told me that they would get what they deserved eventually.”

“Alright. Thank you for your time, Miss Brook. If anything new comes up or if something that may help our investigation comes to mind, feel free to contact me.”

Sam slid a card out of his jacket pocket, casually checking that the name on it matched his current alias and cell phone before handing it to the grieving niece. She thanked him quietly as he stood and bid her a good evening before leaving the apartment and pulling out his cell, flipping it open and speed dialing Dean’s other other cell.

“Yeah?” Dean’s voice crackled through the bad connection, sounding a bit wary in the way he usually did when he found something bad.

“So get this, the vic had some beef with some punks down at the Matchbook bar a few years ago. Seems like Mr. Brook tried to pin the disappearance of his son on them.”

“Sounds like a vengeful spirit alright.” Sam stopped just outside of the Impala, pausing and adjusting the phone against his ear as he opened the driver’s side door.

“What makes you think they’re dead? Could be hoodoo or-”

“While you were out being all Mr. Sheriff, I managed to case the guys house pretty good. Turns out the guy had a few skeletons in his closet.” Dean grimaced as he glanced back into the closet and caught a whiff of the smell inside again. “Like try a ripe rabbit skull and some fucked up writing in blood covering half of the inside of the dude’s closet.”

“Hoodoo?” Sam climbed inside of the Impala, slowly turning the ignition before focusing on Dean’s reply.

“If it is, it’s not local. I’ll snag some samples of the writing and meet you back at the motel.” Dean took a few steps to the side, trying and failing to escape the rotten musk coming from behind the old man’s suits. He suppressed a gag before he found his voice again. “What I don’t get is why the old man’s hoodoo bit him in the ass. Some thing this heavy duty calls for experience and it certainly looks like he knew what he was doing.”

“I’ll get on figuring out who exactly was Mr. Brook, starting with his son. The kid’s disappearance sounds shady at best. Maybe the old man had a hand in it somewhere.”

“Alright. Meet you back at the motel in fifteen.” Dean glanced out the window, checking for anyone that might find a strange man exiting the house suspicious.

\--

Sam was the first back to their motel room. He shrugged off his jacket and hung it on the back of one of the chairs around the tartan cloth covered table. He was starting to get tired of the color already. The entire motel’s theme was overwhelmingly Scottish, right down to the decor, including bagpipes hanging on the wall across from the green tartan beds.

He thought about possibly saying something smart about the increasingly weird motel rooms Dean seemed to find in every town or city or even rural foxhole in the ground that they stayed in, but he doubted it would do anything but redouble Dean’s efforts to find such places.

He dug around in his duffel, finding his laptop and setting it on the table before rolling up his sleeves. He sat down in the creaky chair, wondering if Dean was going to pick up dinner on his way back from Mr. Brook’s house on the side of the city or if he should grab something from a local convenience store to tide himself over for the night. He would need at least something and a few cups of coffee if research was going to keep him up as long as it usually did, which would be most of the night.

Sam glanced out the grimy window, the sun already low in the sky as he stretched his neck a bit and set himself to typing on the laptops keyboard. Pulling up a local police stations records, he hacked his way through a weak firewall and password protection to Mr. Lars Brook’s files.

He flicked through them, frown deepening as the niece’s stories checked out along with one or two recorded offenses for disrupting police procedure during the investigation surrounding the disappearance of his son. Mr. Brook had been very insistent that two men and a woman were responsible for the disappearance. Deeper files showed a history of alcoholism, nothing violent, but it seemed Mr. Brook had a habit of getting drunk on public property just before his son went missing.

Sam took down the names of the three people Mr. Brook had filed more then twelve reports against - ranging from kidnapping to murder - but no evidence along with his previous relationship with Jim, Jack, and Jose had killed Mr. Brook’s case before the police even considered looking into it.

He looked up from the screen and motel notepad he was scribbling on just as Dean walked in to their cramped room, a takeout bag from a local sub shop swinging slightly in his left hand and a cheap cardboard tray holding two tall cups of coffee in his other as he kicked the door shut behind him. His older brother grinned at him as the smell from the bag started to fill the room, making his stomach growl softly at how good it was.

“I must be spoiling you, Sammy. A whole night of research, coffee, and the healthiest looking sub they sold in this little shop down forth street. Am I the greatest older brother ever or what?” Dean wiggled an eyebrow almost suggestively as he set down their meal next to Sam’s laptop.

“Or what.” Sam smirked as he grabbed one of the coffee cups and took a long sip from it. Dean smacked him lightly in the arm as he put it back down on the table, smile still gracing their faces.

“Shut up.”

Dean grabbed his sub from the bag, moving to sit on the bed closest to the table as he unwrapped the greasiest meatball sub Sam had ever seen in his life, and that was saying something with all the greasy food his brother scarfed down while they were on the road. Dean didn’t mind, if the pleased moan leaving the back of his throat after his first bite was anything to go by.

“So what’d you find so far?” Dean asked as Sam made a face from how the words were muffled slightly by him talking while he was still chewing.

Sam took a bite of his own sub, surprised that it was actually full of tomatoes, lettuce, and what tasted like banana peppers and teriyaki chicken instead of something disgusting that he expected Dean to get him. He made sure to swallow before he talked, regretting finding something now that he had to choose between his brother pestering him over the info and finally eating something that didn’t taste like it was made in a convenience store microwave.

“Turns out our Mr. Brook had a heavy drinking problem. At least four arrests for public intoxication in the month before his son’s disappearance. He also set out to have three people in their twenties arrested for kidnapping and possibly murdering his son.” Sam typed in one of the names he listed on the notepad, snorting lightly as Dean moaned again from another bite of his sub. “You two need some time alone?”

Dean only smirked at him before taking a large bite, following it with an exaggerated moan as Sam shook his head and browsed through the police database. He stopped when he got to a news article with the three names he was searching for highlighted at the top, letting out a huff of surprise as he skimmed through it.

“What’d you find?” Dean asked, pausing in his downright filthy enjoyment of his sub sandwich to listen and take a few sips of his coffee.

“The three kids he hated so much all died in a car crash just a week after his son disappeared.” Sam looked over the names again, double checking and confirming they were the same as the ones on his notepad. “Seth Patricks, Karen Gilmore, and Kyle Hanten.”

“First vics?” Dean raised an eyebrow as he returned to his sub, stalling his moaning that bugged Sam for the moment. “He’s got a motivation for casting whatever hoodoo on them. Maybe the other deaths are because he still didn’t feel like he had his revenge.”

“Could be. We should find out more about how the other victims died. Make sure what ever Mr. Brook let loose is gone or if it’s still roaming the streets.” Sam clicked through the database more, finding the case reports of the last few murders that had spiked to an all time kill count for the city. “Says here that most of the bodies were found around this bar called the ‘Matchbook’. We should check it out.”

“Yeah, right. A few sheriffs wandering into a punk bar. That’ll end well.” Dean rolled his eyes, taking a short sip of his coffee. “We won’t get anything out of them. Doubt they’ll talk to anyone who doesn’t have half a dozen holes in their face and ‘Sex Pistols’ tattooed on their ass.”

Dean laughed quietly to himself as he took another bite of his sub and moaned once more for effect. When he looked up, he met Sam’s eyes that held that look that always ended up with him in a situation he’d rather never be in and a big smirk on his little brother’s face.

“What? I have something on my face?”

\---

Sam sighed as he leaned against the frame of the bathroom door, checking his watch again before staring at the wood separating him and his brother. Dean had disappeared inside of the motel bathroom with a few large bags from the downtown district hours ago, refusing to let Sam in to help with anything. He realized too little too late that Dean had stolen his laptop into the bathroom before locking the door as well, leaving him stranded in the motel room without any means to look into the smear of bloody writing Dean had left him on the table by the door.

“Dean, are you sure you don’t need help? You’ve been in there for two hours.” Sam knocked on the door a few times before crossing his arms again. He knew Dean was pissed that it had to be him, but the asshole didn’t have to steal his laptop to punish him.

“Can’t rush perfection, Sammy!” Dean called from behind the door - and Sam could hear the smirk in his voice - just before the soft click of the lock sounded and the door swung open.

Sam exhaled in relief, tired of waiting for his laptop while Dean set up his undercover look for hitting the bars that night. He opened his eyes quickly when he heard Dean lean against the door frame across from him, jumping as he caught sight of his brother grinning at him. Apparently, the bags had held more than the clothes Sam had guessed were inside them.

Black henna tattoos twisted in curves and sharp edges down the left side of his neck, looking tribal as it trailed down his bare chest and around his anti possession tattoo. His right arm had a design from a Led Zeppelin album on his bicep, not looking too bad for a free handed job in the bathroom with a cheap kit.

Sam’s eyes widened at the new piercings Dean now sported - a nose and labret adorning his face, with two small hooped earrings in his left ear and one in his right with a pinna in the top curve. The slight irritated look of the skin around the metal made Sam want to punch him for being enough of an idiot to do it on his own.

“I know, I make this look good.” Dean grinned, fluttering his eyelashes mockingly and drawing Sam’s attention to the eyeliner he was shocked that Dean had even thought of putting on. Dean pushed past his stunned brother and walked back into the main room. He bent to grab one of his black shirts out of his duffel, the torn jeans hugging his ass catching Sam’s eye as he did so.

Sam shifted uncomfortably, suddenly aware that he was just staring at his brother’s ass. He cleared his throat quietly, mentally arguing that Dean didn’t exactly look like himself so it was perfectly normal to not be able to drag his eyes away. It didn’t help that he pulled off punk better than Sam had ever expected. His eyes snapped up as Dean pulled on the tight shirt, running a hand through the fauxhawk he had managed with his short hair, the dark blue streak he had put through the center of it standing out against his natural hair color.

“Geez, I know I look hot but you don’t have to stare, Sammy.” Dean’s grin slipped slightly as he pulled the shirt down, a sliver of black ink catching Sam’s eye just as it was covered up. His grin light up full force again as he caught where his brother was looking. He lifted the back of his shirt up again to show off the marking. “Like it?”

“Wait,” Sam’s breath caught in his throat for a second but he quickly covered it up as shock. “You gave yourself a tramp stamp of my name?!”

“What? I thought you’d love to have your name on my ass.” Dean winked exaggeratedly for effect before pulling his shirt back down, covering the tribal curves of ‘SAM’ that were surprisingly well done for having been made looking in a mirror.

Sam swallowed, tearing his eyes away from Dean’s new persona long enough to disappear into the bathroom and grab his computer. He shut it on the website for tribal tattoo ideas, not bothering to close the window as he shook his head before walking back into the motel room. Dean didn’t look like Dean, but that wasn’t any reason to suddenly eye his ass in the ripped jeans, no matter how high the tears went up his thighs.

He set up his laptop back on the small table near the window, trying not to seem obvious in avoiding eye contact with his punked out brother leaning against the table with his arms crossed. Sam would be dead before he admitted there was a reason other than research and messing with his hair that he wanted Dean to go undercover instead of him.

“So, what am I looking for tonight?” Dean asked before letting his tongue go back to playing with the back of the labret in his sore bottom lip, the taste of the vodka he gargled to prevent infection from the at-home job still heavy around the metal. He had spent a while on his look and it was easy to say that he was pleased with what he had come up with. And even though it was more noticeable and ‘out there’ than his usual attire - an uncomfortable feeling for someone used to avoiding attention wherever possible - he had to admit that he made punk look hot.

“Anyone who knew a Katelyn Hoff, Jeremy Ross, or Elena Jameson. They were the last killed before Mr. Brook.” Sam re-opened his laptop, closing the windows Dean had open with a roll of his eyes at finding BustyAsianBeauties.com open with them. “Knew you were taking too long in there…”

“A guy has needs, Sammy. That, and there was a lot of waiting with the henna crap and hair dye.” Dean shrugged off the eye roll sent his way, smirking lightly as he caught Sam’s eyes after it and watched them linger for a second longer before they snapped back to the computer. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“No.” Sam said pointedly, the answer leaving his lips too fast as he quickly returned to the case files on the last few deaths. “All victims were found dead from an undetermined cause with evidence of foul play that was connected to several different people. No victim was with any one person and all claim it to have been consensual.”

“So find any friends or playmates they were with that night. Got it.” Dean leaned up from leaning on the edge of the table, moving to grab his amulet and jacket from where they’d been tossed on his bed. “I’ll call if I find anything. Don’t wait up, Sammy!”

“Yeah, yeah.” Sam avoided looking up as Dean grabbed the Impala’s keys, deliberately ignoring the grin that Dean was giving him. He couldn’t help but glance up when Dean tugged on his jacket though, his tight shirt moving with the motion just enough for Sam to get a glimpse of his own name marring the pale flesh of his brother’s lower back before it was quickly covered.

The motel door shut loudly behind the older hunter, leaving Sam to let out a breath he hadn’t know he’d been holding. He tugged the sheet of paper with the smeared spell that Mr. Brook had done closer to him, setting his mind to research instead of down the road that he thought he had gotten over at Stanford.

Being the nerd with a stereotypical bad boy kink never exactly helped in his studies when he was too busy fantasizing about playing tonsil hockey with anyone who had a tongue ring to pay attention to them.


	2. Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A murder comes back to haunt a punk bar in the deep underground of a heavily populated city, leading the Winchesters into a complex hunt buried in twenty seven years of vengeance and obsession. Sam and Dean will have to go undercover to dig deep into the past of this case, but will they be able to cope when they discover more than just the reason why someone or something is killing every punk in town?

\---

There was a long roped off line across the road from Dean, the black building behind it windowless and decorated with graffiti up as high as a ladder could reach on the three stories. The beat of the bass inside thrummed in the air and in the concrete closer to the doors, where the hums of guitars and the noise of patrons escaping spilled out whenever they were opened for the briefest of moments to allow more people in or out of the building.

Dean let out a slow breath, eying the bouncer at the black double doors sprayed with varying designs of letters spelling out the word ‘Matchbook’. The area was dimly lit with flickering neon lights, the colors dancing off of the piercings and inked skin that stood in the line among the occasional dull looking individuals, who stuck out like sore thumbs in contrast, outside the bar.

He fidgeted, aware he looked the part but it didn’t look like he was going to get in on looks alone. He scanned over the crowd waiting to go in before deciding to take the more stealthy approach, rounding the corner of the building towards a group of people in the side alley with his hands in his pockets.

One of the girls looked up as he scoped the building, her raised eyebrow catching his eye as she took a long drag of the cigarette pressed between her lemon yellow lips. She straightened up from leaning against the black brick, her arms tucking under each other over the fishnet shirt that didn’t cover her bra one bit.

“Looking for someone, sweetheart?” She smiled, painted nails moving up to take out her cigarette before her chin length blonde hair could catch it. Dean nodded, joining the group as she pulled a pack of smokes out of the pocket of her pants, offering them to him.

“I don’t smoke.”

“Then I don’t talk.” She smirked, nudging him with the pack with a playful look behind her long side fringe before her painted mouth shifted into a serious line. When he didn’t reach for the packet, she crossed her arms again and turned away, effectively ending their conversation permanently.

“Katelyn Hoff.” Dean huffed heatedly, knowing Sam was going to kill him later as he took a cigarette from the pack resting at her elbow. He held it for ransom when the woman tucked away the pack and flicked open her lighter, the flame flickering in the dark of the huddled group of people enjoying a smoky treat.

“Sorry, honey. She’s dead. Corpse turned up about a week ago.” She relaxed a bit more once he finally surrendered and let her light the cigarette, lemon colored lips sealed shut until he cursed and took the shortest drag he could, practically hearing Sam yelling at him from the motel. “I’m Lynda. I tend the bar inside with Muriel.”

“Dean. Katelyn’s cousin.” Dean ignored the pointed glance Lynda gave at the cigarette burning between his fingers, wondering why she had such a comfort with knowing he was destroying his lungs with it just for info. “Just trying to understand what happened to her.”

“Not taking the police’s answer of ‘foul play and homicide’? I don’t blame you. They’ve been searching for a way to shut this place down for months.” Lynda rested her shoulders against the brick again, watching as a heavily tattooed man put out his smoke and disappeared back inside through the employees only door to her left.

“But Muriel would know more about Kate. He was with her most of the night.”

“Date?” Dean asked as the flood of the sound of the bar seeped through the cracked door for a split second.

“No. She was hugging a bottle of vodka all night. The Pins had a gig here that night and she got stage fright. She wasn’t ever confident about her singing, huh?” Lynda took in another breath from the cigarette resting between her honey bee colored nails. Smoke coiled from her lips around the sigh she breathed out.

“Not really.” Dean followed her lead, hoping he could get more out of her if he filled his lungs with what reminded him of every dirty bar he had taken a long drink in as he leaned on the wall beside her. He waited it out until she was sucking on the filter, his own cigarette getting close to that level. He noted with grim amusement that it really said something about where he usually drank when he could smoke so easily without coughing out a lung. “Muriel in?”

“He takes the night shift tomorrow.” Lynda snuffed the filter of her cigarette under a heeled boot, giving him a light smile as she straightened herself. “You let me bum a cig from you next time and I’ll tell the bouncer to let you in tomorrow.”

“Deal.”

Dean watched her wave goodbye before she disappeared behind the employees only door, glancing briefly over at the other smokers before deciding to case the joint one last time before waiting it out until tomorrow.

\---

Sam had multiple sites open as his fingers typed away on the keyboard, a few old books he insisted on lugging around with them - despite a library somewhere in North Dakota having him on a black list for stealing them - laying open scattered across his bed and the table behind his laptop. He paused for a moment to sip at the coffee he had taken a short break to get after finding the origin of country the spell Mr. Brook had done was from, rolling the taste of the bitter liquid on his tongue for a moment before swallowing. He took another gulp as he read through another possible lead into what the thick globed letters on the paper Dean brought him meant.

He only looked up from the article when he heard the door open and close before the soft click of the lock echoed softly in the room, seeing Dean shrugging off his jacket and dumping it carelessly over the pages of the books Sam had on his bed.

“You’re back early. I wasn’t expecting you sober.” Sam smirked at Dean’s fake huff of laughter before tearing his eyes off the tight shirt clinging to his brother’s back to finish the article. “Find anything?”

“Just a lead about the night Katelyn Hoff died. Bartender stayed with her most of the night.” Dean walked towards the bathroom, flipping on the light and catching his reflection briefly before deciding he should probably wash off the make up crap covering his face. “I’ll talk to him during his shift tomorrow. This girl’s gonna sweet talk the bouncer to get me in. Damn place is the fortress of punk bars. Had a fucking line halfway down the block.”

Sam humored Dean with a half smile, slipping up momentarily and letting his eyes leave the article to catch Dean’s profile in the bathroom. He quickly forgot his comeback on how Dean could typically charm himself into any bar as he heard the faucet squeak, a splash of warm water making the eyeliner on Dean’s race run before two calloused hands scrubbed it away. Sam shook his head and turned back to his laptop, forcing himself to read the article. He had trouble getting the words to register as he focused too hard on keeping his eyes from wandering back to the open door of the bathroom.

“How ‘bout you, Sammy? Find anything?” Dean’s voice called out from the bathroom over the splash of fast water on porcelain. Sam nodded, not checking to see if Dean had noticed as he stood up and grabbed the leather covering the books and more importantly, a few police reports that looked more than a little odd.

Sam froze in place the second he picked up the jacket, the thick smell of smoke flaring when he moved it from his bed. He lifted to his face to take a deep breath of the scent before furrowing his brow and ignoring the way his pants were suddenly a little snugger than before. The jacket reeked of smoke more than the usual bar Dean decided to drown himself with liquor in.

“I thought you didn’t go into the bar?” Sam reached under the jacket, collecting the police reports and ignoring the heavy scent as much as he could. “Your jacket smells like you smoked a pack out back.”

“I did.” Dean moved to lean against the doorway with a towel in hand, scrubbing his wet face with it and wincing slightly at the rough fabric catching briefly on his piercings. He moved the towel away from his eyes just in time to see Sam shoot a well known bitch face in his direction, rolling them as he felt the oncoming lecture about fucking with his lungs. His usual drinking never got quite the same attention as Sam gave more addictive and harmful substances. Alcohol destroying his liver didn’t make it harder to catch his breath when dodging the claws of something nasty trying to get acquainted with the color of his intestines.

“Dean-“

“Yeah, I know.” Dean tossed the towel onto the tile of the bathroom floor, walking back into the room and moving to pull the tight material of his shirt over his head. “This bartender chick wouldn’t talk to me if I didn’t. Figured learning what the hell is up with this city was more important than lighting up once.”

Sam let it drop mostly because of how the black shirt dropped carelessly to the floor, leaving him faced with a half naked Dean with dyed hair and pierced like a metal detector’s nightmare, looking like he’d just stepped straight out of one of Sam’s college-day wet dreams. He slowly breathed in through his nose before letting it out in what he hoped sounded like an irritated sigh, relaxing when Dean didn’t seem to pick up on his anxiety and arousal, one being the cause of the other.

“Anyway, while you were out smoking like a chimney, I managed to get my hands on a few of the coroner’s reports the police had.” Sam let his eyes burn a hole into the papers in his hands when he heard the distinct sound of Dean undoing his belt, wanting to kick himself for choosing now to be so affected by an attraction he had hoped to be over by now and another more pressing attraction he’d rather not look too closely into. “You know how the police keep mentioning foul play? Well, turns out most of the victims had sex just hours before they died.”

“Incubus?” Dean questioned as he shucked off his pants towards his duffel and missing by a few inches, brushing it off as stood across the bed from Sam in just his boxers.

“If the bar was its hangout, it’d make sense but the coroner’s reports don’t fit.” Sam sifted through the papers, handing Dean one without being too obvious that he was trying really hard not to look up at his brother. “Each had multiple partners, all testified that it was completely consensual. You could say the body mutilations were made by a jealous lover, but-“

“-Last time we checked, you actually had to penetrate the skin to cut someones intestines to hell.” Dean nodded, making Sam realize he had looked up again before moving to collect up the open books on his bed. Dean shrugged and tossed the few reports Sam had handed to him back onto the bed, yanking off the covers off his own bed before crashing into the mattress. “I’ll head back out tomorrow and see who I can get to talk.” Dean rubbed his eyes, looking over his shoulder to met Sam’s eyes on him. “You alright there, Sammy?”

“Yeah.” Sam shook himself, not liking how he had frozen in his effort to clear his bed when Dean had shamelessly dumped himself onto the bed, naked back stretched out right up to the few strands of blue that had fallen out of line with the rest of his gelled hair. “Just need a shower and some sleep.” He packed up quickly after Dean’s noncommittal hum at his words, shutting his laptop and walking into the bathroom at a slightly faster pace than usual.

Dean was asleep by the time he had scrubbed every inch of himself clean, the entire time ignoring his cock when it tried to gain his attention with the thought of Dean naked and wet under the spray with him, his piercings leaving a thrilling metal tang on Sam’s tongue.

\---

The bright red light of the clock flashed the time of two am into Sam's eyes from its place on the nightstand. The sound of Dean's soft breathing drifted from the bed across from him, his eyes darting from the clock to the relaxed form of his brother sleeping soundly on his stomach. The sheets had slipped from Dean's waist over the course of the night, sliding down his body and past his hips to leave his barely clothed body bare for Sam to take in through the darkness of the room.

Sam shifted in his bed again, the sheets clinging to the damp skin from his late and long shower as he turned onto his back. He stared at the ceiling, not wanting to come to terms with what he had been doing the whole night. Shifting again, he turned his back to Dean, dipping his chin to his chest in shame over how he was still half hard even after his stressful shower.

He swallowed and sighed heavily before he admitted that dealing with this the Winchester way wasn't going to work this time.

The tattoos, piercings, and punk style being used for undercover paired with how Sam was seeing Dean as someone other than his muscle car loving, alcoholic, womanizer of a brother was messing with Sam's head. He slipped a hand under the sheets, biting his lip as he cupped his rapidly filling cock, letting out a breathy huff at how it was messing with more than one head.

The problem was that Dean didn't look like his typical self, more like a wet dream Sam would have had a few years ago, but he was still Dean. Caring, cocky, love 'em and leave 'em Dean under the bad boy wet dream combined with Dean's already gorgeous features from his sharp green eyes, callused gunslinger hands, to his lips that could kill a man from being denied access to.

Sam shook his head slightly, burying his face more into the pillow as he felt his cock twitch in agreement. He opened his eyes after realizing he had shut them, catching sight of the leather jacket that still reeked of smoke over the chair of the table by the window. The mental image of a cigarette between those cocksucking lips of his brother slammed into him, making him groan almost as if he were in pain. His hard cock demanded attention after being ignored for several hours of having Dean so close to him but still ever out of reach. The flicker of the memory of his name tattooed on Dean's lower back sealed it, his hand diving into his boxers as he grit his teeth, swearing that just one time would get it out of his system.

He stroked himself with a few flicks of his wrist, panting loudly before trying to hold his breath so he wouldn't wake Dean. He gripped his cock tighter, stroking from base to tip, thumb swiping the slick precome that already coated the tip. His breath tries to catch with each jerk, head lowered as he stared at the coat resting over the back of the chair as he ground his hips into his hand.

He had to bite back a groan over how he knew exactly how Dean sounded when he was like this, each moan and grunt low but still faint enough to hear. Sam had walked in and pretended to sleep far too many times not to know what sounds came from his brother's throat when he jerked off. It was too easy to imagine those guttural sounds, his brother under him and begging for him, panting his name while Sam kissed away the taste of nicotine still lingering on those lips that belonged to him.

Sam threw off the sheets of the bed, standing up and walking hurriedly to the bathroom. He couldn't keep holding his breath, the images running through his head only making it worse. He stopped for a second when he caught sight of Dean splayed out across the other mattress, really wishing the thought that Dean could be faking that he was asleep didn't send a spike of arousal down his spine.

Locking the bathroom door behind him, Sam leaned against it as he took in how desperate he looked in the mirror. His boxers were tented in the front, lips parted and hair a mess like he really had been shoving his tongue down Dean's throat not a minute before he retreated into the bathroom.

A soft growl left his parted lips as he rubbed the palm of his hand over the cloth concealing his erection from the towel rack's judgment, closing his eyes and sighing contently as he gave in. He thought through all of the ways he wanted Dean, from biting and tugging lightly on his brother's new piercings while he fucked him against the wall to finally feeling those lips wrapped around his cock and sucking him like there was no tomorrow. He knew Dean would love it from the low growling sound that his brother made when he was giving it to himself rough after a long time without any chance to.

Sam pulled down his boxers, finally getting a hand around his thick cock when the soft hitching of Dean's breath when he came crossed his mind and drove him insane with lust. He was about to answer with a deep growl as he stroked himself to the rhythm he was fucking Dean's mouth in his fantasy, when a sudden knock on the other side of the door made him freeze.

"Sam, hurry up in there. Another body came over the police scanner. We need to head to the Matchbook now." Dean's voice followed the knock, making Sam's back arch at the thought that he could get himself off right there and then with Dean only separated from him by the flimsy wood. "Sam?"

"Yeah." His voice was too thick and low, rough gravel to his own ears. Dean would know he was jerking himself off in the bathroom, he probably knew every noise Sam made as well as he knew his own. Sam panted heavier, the thought driving him closer to the edge without him even moving. It would be so easy to come, make Dean hear his name fall from his lips before yanking the door off it hinges, fuck Dean's perfect ass into the nearest wall, make him beg to be filled with Sam's come. Fuck, it would be so easy, but he couldn't. "Be right there."

"Right. Just quit with the happy noises, man."

Sam sighed, pulling his boxers up and moving to turn the faucet. He splashed cold water on his face as he waited for his cock to stop finding everything about his brother hotter than hell. Ignoring the fact that Sam was probably going downstairs for getting off on the thought of fucking Dean like a whore, he managed to pull off calm enough to leave the bathroom and repress the event while he got dressed.

Sam could have his little incestuous crisis when they were finished with the job.


	3. Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A murder comes back to haunt a punk bar in the deep underground of a heavily populated city, leading the Winchesters into a complex hunt buried in twenty seven years of vengeance and obsession. Sam and Dean will have to go undercover to dig deep into the past of this case, but will they be able to cope when they discover more than just the reason why someone or something is killing every punk in town?

\---

 

The back alley where Dean had been just a few hours prior was roped off with police tape, a small crowd of people huddled by it as the club stalled to a dead stop and the flashing lights of police cars lit up the street. Sam slipped out of the impala down the block, heading towards the scene dressed as a Fed in hopes of getting more immediate answers as to what they were dealing with. Dean had pulled up farther down the block, parking his baby before joining the crowd of people outside watching as the police inspected the latest murder scene.

Lynda was behind the tape, her crossed arms under a jacket one of the police had placed on her shoulders and her face looking more wary than it had before. Sam flashed his badge at her before carefully questioning her with a sympathetic face as Dean watched from the sidelines, blending into the crowd and trying to catch even the slightest sign or flinch that could lead them to who or what ever they needed to gank to end this.

His eyes kept flickering over to Sam though, the custom suit hugging Sam’s tall frame perfectly and drawing every eye towards him as he stood among the police uniforms and punk club goers. The damn thing never fit Sam’s long legs until his brother finally gave in and went to get it tailor fitted. Now it not only made Sam look like a proper Fed, but down right authoritative.

Dean found himself unable to take his eyes off how Sam was getting Lynda and the police to answer his questions with just a flash of his badge and a glance at his suit. He blamed the people around him for how he suddenly felt a lot warmer than the cool night air should let him be even though the crowd was thinning more as the police comb the scene before the coroner’s car came to collect the body. Dean shook his head and glanced over the few left, hoping he didn’t miss someone suspicious while practically eye fucking his brother.

The coroner arrived on the scene, a police man guiding what’s left of the crowd and Dean away from the alleyway so there was room to move the sheet covered body without the populace disturbing anything. He risked one last glance at Sam flashing his badge in order to get a chance to look over the corpse, earning him a rough shove from the police man as he stalled. Glaring behind him, Dean gave in rather than risk spending a night in jail for slugging a police officer and retreated across the street to lean against the Impala and wait for Sam to be done playing Fed.

A few minutes passed before Sam glanced at him and excused himself from his conversation with the coroner, crossing the road quickly as one of the police cars pulled away from the scene as well. He fidgeted with his tie a bit while he walked up to Dean, the action catching Dean’s eye but he ignored it in favor of hearing what Sam found.

“Anything?”

“Same cause of death as the other victims as far as I can tell. And same theory of foul play by the police considering the vic’s skirt and underwear are missing.” Sam paused to nod back at the crime scene, eyes on the honey bee colored bartender. “Lynda Thomson was working the bar. Saw the victim leave with a guy after making out with a few other people, but didn’t think anything of it until she went out for her fourth smoke break and found the corpse. She tried CPR but the internal bleeding was already too much.”

“Chick got a name?” Dean shoved his hands in his pockets, following Sam’s gaze before his eyes met the hazel of Lynda’s eyes. He stiffened slightly, realizing that he was casually talking to who she thought was a federal agent out in the open. Sam hadn’t flashed his badge or anything, meaning he knew him personally or professionally. The latter would mean Dean’s cover would be screwed and any hope of getting this case solved before another victim turned up was lost. Only one way to cover most of the damage stood out in his mind so he took it.

“Police couldn’t find any ID on her so-mmph!” Sam caught himself with one hand on the hood of the Impala, body tensing as Dean grabbed the labels of his jacket and yanked him into a brutal kiss.

He gripped the black metal hard with both hands as one of Dean’s own slipped around his waist, the other catching in his hair. Sam was frozen in shock, not trusting himself with moving even an inch or parting his lips as Dean’s tongue swiped across them. Before it even crossed his mind to pull away from kissing his brother, Dean parted their lips to kiss along his jaw and up to whisper into his ear.

“Lynda’s watching us. If she thinks we’re working together, I’m not getting in that club. Better to be fucking a Fed than working with one.” Dean nipped his ear harshly, forcing Sam to bite back a moan as he remembered that he still hadn’t gotten off and now Dean was pressing his body oh so temptingly hard against his, trapping himself between Sam and the Impala. “So kiss me, bitch. Make it count.”

“Jerk.” Sam breathed before cupping the side of Dean’s face and harshly capturing those full lips. He grabbed Dean’s ass, lifting him up so Dean was sitting on the hood with Sam between his spread legs. Dean’s lips parted for him easily, talented tongue tangling with his in a way Lynda wouldn’t even notice from this distance. Sam tried to keep himself in check, not letting his hips grind into Dean’s like he desperately wanted to or let his mind wander to how Dean’s mouth could do all he fantasized about and more with how down right sinful it felt against his.

He squeezed his brother’s ass roughly in retaliation when Dean yanked on his hair, the motion trying to get Sam to kiss him harder rather than to pull away and Sam definitely took note of that for later. He bit at Dean’s bottom lip before moving down to bite lightly at the labret piercing and the light scruff there, feeling a hand slide down to his lower back and quickly pull their hips flush together.

A moan echoed between them before they both pulled away sharply, each going shock still as reality crashed into them. They were both breathing heavily, staring at each other wide eyed as they felt the other’s erection through the thin fabric of suit pants and jeans. Dean swallowed heavily, his lips parting in a way that made Sam want to lick his own and taste where Dean’s lips had been on his again.

“I’d say that was pretty convincing…” Dean joked lightly but it fell flat as Sam let go of him and straightened himself quickly, clearing his throat softly before rounding to the passenger’s side.

“Get in the car.” Sam said quietly, leaving no room for argument as he opened the side door and slipped inside. It took Dean a while longer to get his mind off the fact that Sam had just kissed him better than a porn star could have. He slid off the hood and into the driver’s seat, not glancing to see if Lynda was even still outside the bar.

“Yeah…yeah. Okay.”

They drove back to the motel in silence, each feeling like it wasn’t so much awkward as it was filled with too many things said that shouldn’t have been.

Dean slipped into the shower the second they got back, closing the door uncharacteristically and locking Sam out. He didn’t come out for a long time even after the water stopped running, leaving Sam to strip down to his boxers and lie down on his bed. He felt panicked, wondering if he had gone too fair but the taste of Dean’s lips was still heavy on his. Sam risked one swipe of his tongue before he buried his face into the pillows, pretending to sleep as he heard the bathroom door finally open.

Dean’s foot steps stopped short at the end of Sam’s bed, making him want to open his eyes from his feigned sleep but he already knew Dean was just as tempted as he was to crawl into the same bed together. A few moments passed before the footsteps continued, unaccompanied by the weight of the warm body of his brother in his arms.

\---

Dean sat in one of the booths of the local diner, up before the breakfast rush and even arriving a few minutes before it had opened. He was the first to get up that morning, finding it a bit harder to sleep than usual with his mind constantly returning to Sam’s lips against his and tongue down his throat. He had woken up at least three times from dreams he was still attempting to lock down deep into his subconscious. On the fourth, he had forgone sleep and slipped quietly into the bathroom to dye the hair of his fauxhawk green and correct what his shower had taken off of his disguise.

That left him to drive mindlessly to a diner a few blocks down from their motel, the Impala sitting in a front parking spot as he waited. He was distracted, sorting out what last night was all about since it was obvious to him that kiss was more than just convincing Lynda that he wasn’t an undercover Fed or cop. He was so distracted that he had slipped up and ordered the daily blend of coffee instead of his usual black, but he doubted his internal crisis was going to allow him to taste the difference.

So there he was, sitting in the corner of a diner, having an incestuous crisis about kissing his beautiful little brother and not being able to stop thinking about the feel of being pressed between the Impala and the solid wall of Sam’s body. It made him think, really and truly think, about whether this wasn’t something he’d been wanting for a while. This sort of thing didn’t come out of nowhere, you didn’t just suddenly start wanting your little brother one day with no preamble.

Maybe this had always been in his mind, and he had just subconsciously shoved it down, piled things on top of it and hidden it deep, buried under a heaping helping of good ol’ suppression. Knowing Dean, he did that for a number of things, some without reason or even realizing he was doing it.

Dean groaned softly, pressing the palms of his hands against his eyes as he started to realize that the few blowjobs he had given when he was short on cash probably meant a little more subconsciously than just getting enough gas money. He was dealing with a fucking sexuality and incestuous crisis in the middle of a diner before his morning coffee. Life could not kick him in the balls any harder.

What was worse was that even after becoming aware that he was lusting after a man who just so happened to be his brother, his Sammy that he took care of and sewed up after hunts since they were little, he couldn’t find it in himself to be disgusted or resentful or to leave. He should being doing something yet here he was in a stupid fucking diner getting him and Sam breakfast like nothing was wrong.

Dean dropped his hands from resting over his eyes when he felt a tap on his shoulder, folding them on the table as he looked over to see a middle aged waitress setting the large bag full of his order and the cardboard tray with two tall cups of steaming coffee onto the table. He muttered out a thank you and an apology, knowing that she had probably been calling out for him to get the order for a while.

The waitress smiled at him and patted his shoulder reassuringly before walking back to the counter, not appearing phased by the punk guise he was wearing one bit. Dean opened his mouth again, about to tell the stranger he was fine but stopping himself with a heavy exhale. He stared at the large bag sitting in front of him, knowing that his BLT sandwich was inside along with the breakfast salad and bagel he got for Sam. Even if Sam didn’t feel like eating because his sick brother who madeout with him and loved it was in the same room, he could at least get him to eat something.

Dean stood, grabbing the bag and cardboard tray harshly before walking out of the diner and back to the Impala. If anything, he could always repress it, shove it to the back of his mind where it belonged and let it fester there until he cracks. Hopefully it would stay there long enough that a monster could get him before he ended up telling Sam that he thought he was falling in love with him - had been in love with him - and then end up being responsible for ruining what they had.

\---

Breakfast was quieter than usual, both of them treading lightly around each other when they did speak. Sam didn't look up from his laptop, only breaking the silence to comment on the article about the victim of last night between bites of his salad. Dean managed to tolerate the strawberry blend of coffee he had accidentally ordered, wrinkling his nose occasionally but too thankful for the extra shot of caffeine to complain out loud. His bites into his BLT sandwich slowed after the first two, leaving him to stare at the tomato seeping out of the bread and onto the wrapping he was using as a place mat.

He glanced back up at Sam, unsettled that he had gone through most of his breakfast and even half of the bagel without commenting once on the greasy bacon bits in the salad or strong artificial flavor in the coffee that's sweetness was eating at Dean's taste buds. After a few more moments of the unsettling silence, Dean threw his sandwich down onto the table, knowing he couldn't take this awkward cold shoulder thing for the entire case without cracking.

"Sam."

Sam's eyes snapped up from his laptop, his face expressionless like he was steeling himself from what Dean was about to say. Dean felt the words dry up in the back of his throat, breaking their eye contact immediately to grab his coffee again and take a large sip in hopes of drowning out that he had said anything or work up the courage to actually talk about the night before. He grunted after he swallowed the sweet coffee, making a face that turned to surprise when Sam started laughing.

"Dude, this coffee sucks." Sam smiled brightly at him, making Dean blink dumbly at him until a smile spread across his own face. Ignoring it and going back to normal or just accepting it, whichever they were doing, Dean would go with it. If only to keep Sam smiling like that in his direction.

\---

Their plan was in place that night. Sam had set up a stake out down the block in case Dean called for back up or didn't return in under an hour, each hoping they wouldn't need a plan B. They both agreed that splitting up too far from each other wasn't going to be a good idea with the victims turning up more frequently, having a man on the inside and outside would be better in case the bastard they were going to gank decided to show or slip away from the bar.

"Be careful in there, alright? We still don't know who or what we're after." Sam swallowed down his nerves as Dean slipped his gun into his waistband, concealing it behind his leather jacket and black shirt before nodding at Sam's quiet wish of good luck. "And you'd better get your ass back here in time."

"Relax. I'll have one shot at most." Dean grinned at him before opening the side door and slipping out of the Impala. "I've got my cell. If I don't show, call me and if I don't pick up, then you can rush in and blow my cover."

He closed the door, patting the roof of his baby before walking down the street and to the long line outside the bar. It appeared that not even the murders had scared the crowd away, the line still long and filled with colorful people of the night. Security looked tighter, the bouncer standing by the double doors looming over every person he let in and checking ID twice before allowing them inside.

Dean hesitated for a moment, gritting his teeth as he realized he didn't have an ID with anything close to the last name of Katelyn Hoff. He didn't know how well exactly Lynda knew Katelyn, their conversation vague at best but he didn't have much of a choice at that point. Glancing down the ally still covered in police tape but not enough to ward away the employees smoking on break, Dean contemplated attempting to slip through the back until he caught the hazel of a certain honey bee colored woman again.

Lynda was standing by the back door again, cigarette burning between her fingers as she smiled wide with her yellow lips and jerked her head in the direction of the entrance. Dean lifted a hand to wave briefly at her, walking up to the broad shouldered man dressed in black and enough piercings to give a metal detector a heart attack. The man eyed Dean when he bypassed the line, looking him up and down before leveling him with a harsh glare.

"Back of the line."

"Lynda said she'd talk to you." Dean shoved his hands into the pockets of his torn jeans, not backing down even through the man rivaled Sam in height.

"So you're Dean Shaw. Lyn said that you would show up." The bouncer smoothed his glare slightly before nodding towards the doors. Dean ignored the last name Lynda had used, walking through the doors and into the blast of cool air and punk music while trying not to think too hard that he was suddenly being addressed as Agent Sam Shaw's husband. He'd rather Sam not know that he didn't correct them.

The cool of an industrial sized air conditioner filled Dean's lungs as he caught sight of the heat of bodies grinding and moshing at the foot of a stage covering the right side wall. The large speakers blasted music loud enough to deafen those sitting at the bar along the left hand side of the graffiti covered bar. The stage was set up for a band that hadn't showed, but that didn't stop people from using it as a height advantage in a brutal mosh pit that looked closer to a bar fight.

There were tables and rickety chairs lining the walls further away from the stage, all looking mismatched from lawn chairs to sofas to some that looked more at home in royal palaces. Couples of all kinds where using the collage of furniture, some barely dressed and several men and women shirtless while they necked along the sides of the mosh pit. Dean smirked as a bartendress only clad in a denim skirt and a number of tattoos walked by him with a tray of liquor for a full table in the corner, her skirt pulled down far enough that it was easy to see that she wasn't wearing anything underneath it.

He tore his eyes away from staring, realizing why whatever was roaming the place had chosen it. The entire bar reeked of anarchy and it was a wonder that it was still up and running instead of being shut down or accidentally burned to the ground from the harsh mosh pit.

Dean made his way over to the long purple and graffiti covered bar, eyes causally surveying the large room. His eyes caught a small staircase near the stage, mostly concealed behind the mob of violent dancing, the second floor just visible on a balcony in the flashing lights of the stage. He tensed as he got closer to the bar, feeling the temperature drop suddenly around him but no one else near him seemed to notice. His hand twitched towards his gun but he forced himself to sit down on one of the rickety stools lining the bar, ignoring instinct for the moment with a drawn out sigh.

"Long night?"

Dean glanced up from his folded arms on the bar's counter, eyes meeting a dark skinned man with a smile that could light up the entire room. He shrugged, while the man reached under the bar and pulled up a glass with his fuchsia nails clinking softly on its surface. He poured Dean a whiskey on the rocks before he could even say a word, shoving it in front of him and leaning forward with his arms resting on the table.

"Are you Muriel?" Dean felt a little uneasy from the stare down the bartender was giving him, looking as if he was skimming an open book.

"Kate's cousin, right? Lyn made sure to get me on the night shift tonight for you." Muriel grinned, reaching under the bar again for another glass while he ignored the two girls who were too busy groping each other at the end of the bar to bother asking if they needed a refill on their beers. Dean wasn't complaining about the uninterrupted free show. "And I have to say, she wasn't kidding when she said that looks run in the family."

"Uh...thanks." Dean shifted uncomfortably, less from the comment and more from the temperature lowering the longer he sat there. "Lyn said you were with Kate for most of the night. I was hoping to get some answers. Was she acting strange or anything?"

"Strange? No. Just nervous and jumpy like a hummingbird before she got half a bottle of vodka in her. She never was confident in her singing, was she?" Muriel shook his head sadly, filling up a shot of the clear liquor for himself before swallowing it as easy as water. "I had to cut her off before she drowned herself in the stuff. I checked on another hard hitter after that and when I turned around she was gone."

"Gone?" Dean rested his hand against his own glass, not touching the liquid and itching for whatever was looming over him to actually be after him rather than Muriel or the two girls in the corner. Muriel nodded.

"Disappeared off into the crowd or something. Next I saw her, she was walking away from this short guy with spiky green and black hair, pretty sure he had snake bites too but it was a bit of a distance." Muriel waved his hand dismissively. "She looked mad at him but he just let her walk away so I didn't think anything of it. About half an hour after leaving the bar, she came back and tackled the first five or so people willing to fuck her. Nothing out of the usual for around here. Sorry."

Dean managed a smirk at that, thinking that if it weren't for the punk theme and the hunt, the bar really would be his kind of place. He took a sip of the whiskey that was slowly becoming watered down in his glass, knowing he at least had one more lead with mystery man that met up with the victim though he doubted he'd get far enough to question him.

"Thanks." Dean stood up just as Muriel straightened himself, breath turning shallow from the cold as he definitely felt the presence of something icy gripping his shoulder tight enough to sting. "But I don't take it with ice."

"On the house, sweetheart." Muriel winked at him before turning to finally break up the two girls from dry humping on his clean counter top. When he turned back, Dean was being pulled through the crowd in the mosh pit by a tall man in leather and denim.


	4. Part Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A murder comes back to haunt a punk bar in the deep underground of a heavily populated city, leading the Winchesters into a complex hunt buried in twenty seven years of vengeance and obsession. Sam and Dean will have to go undercover to dig deep into the past of this case, but will they be able to cope when they discover more than just the reason why someone or something is killing every punk in town?

\---

It had only been fifteen minutes since Dean slipped out of his sight when Sam finally got his follow up call from Bobby. He had reached the limit of what resources he could collect from the local library and his research online had ranged from incubi to ghosts to demonic possession to BDSM porn sites. Bobby had a better and wider range to search through and after being sent the details, he knew exactly where to look and find what they were dealing with in just a few hours.

"It's a Deildegast, Dean." Sam stood on the sidewalk, drumming his fingers on the open passenger's side door of the Impala as he spoke into Dean's voicemail on his cell. "It's a Norwegian ghost connected with the sanctity of old border-stones. Bobby dug up a few scraps of lore and found that Mr. Brook twisted some ancient curse after his son went missing. And now this bar is paying for it."

Sam glanced along the street, knowing that fifteen minutes wouldn't get Dean anywhere but he couldn't just stand there knowing Dean didn't know what they were up against. He smiled politely as a punk couple passed him, keeping his voice down until they were out of hearing range.

"The 'border-stone' can be twisted into a metaphor. Brook lost his wife to cancer and his son just vanished after visiting the bar. He probably wanted some revenge on whoever he thought was responsible for taking what was his when the police refused to do anything. The first three vics, Seth Patricks, Karen Gilmore, and Kyle Hanten, they're our Deildegast and are killing people with what could be some form of ghost sickness. It all fits." Sam gripped the car door tightly for a moment, eyeing the Matchbook with his FBI badge weighing heavy in his jacket pocket. "Call me when you get this or I'll bust your cover in ten."

\---

The air was knocked out of Dean's lungs as he was thrown violently against the floor of the bar's upper balcony, the sting of the initial crack of hitting his head against the polished wood singing in his skull and disorientating him while he gasped for breath.

He heard the sound of heavy boots approaching over the loud wail of the music as he struggled to move, rolling his weight onto the side that didn't feel like his shoulder blade had crashed into his spine. Dean was still struggling to shake the sharp sting rattling his skull and reach for his gun when he found himself pinned to the floor by an unseen force, leaving him to stare up at the ceiling and really hope he wouldn't need Sam to wake him every hour that night for a concussion.

Two hands fisted into his jacket, lifting him up to meet the hazel eyes of one of the punks he had seen in one of Sam's research articles. The blond fauxhawk, heavily pierced ear, lip ring, and blue checkered tattoo sleeve peppering the dead man's features were hard to forget from the old newspaper clippings.

"You always play this nice with your victims? Or am I just special?" Dean grinned through the throbbing in his skull, his head snapping to the side with another sickening sound of his lip splitting as one of the fists let go to slam into his face.

"Most aren't hunters." Dean felt the gun slip from under his jacket, the metal scraping across the wood as it was thrown out of reach and slid further along the balcony. "I've had time to scope you out and if you're capable enough to get this far, you can help me."

"Yeah? Which graveyard are your bones rotting in? I've got a guy that can torch them in ten." Dean choked out, a hand clasping around his throat and tightening in order to shut him up.

"You're not the first hunter to try that. Seth and Kaz got to them before they even thought of a plan 'B'. They don't want to leave like I do." The tight hold around his neck loosened, letting Dean gasp for air again as the ghost straightened itself from hovering over him. Dean clutched at his throat, sitting up more and glaring up at the flickering image of what was once Kyle Hanten.

"Sounds like you've been at this a while, gone through a lot of hunters..."

"Twenty seven years. Being dead gets old after the first two." Hanten rubbed the knuckles of the fist he punched Dean with, the word 'Sara' engraved in ink across the skin. "We're here because of Seth's stupid fix-it plan and now I'm going to clean up after his mess again with you."

"Yeah? Sorry, pal. I'm not much into helping ghosts who rack up a body count." Dean glanced over in the direction his gun slid, his head throbbing in rhythm with the blood rushing in his ears over the music and unaware crowd just over the rails of the balcony. A rough cold hand forced him to look at Hanten again, fingers digging into his skin as he felt a sudden piercing heat rush into him.

"I lost my sister and I wasn't there because of Mr. Brook. I was the only one who took care of her and paid her hospital bills. She was five and on her own. I can't even visit her grave." Hanten glared at him though his face looked more clam than angry as Dean grabbed at his arm, trying to yank Hanten's hands off him as he gasped at the heat and felt small pin pricks of pain spark inside his chest. "I've lost too much to bother caring about others anymore so don't think I won't make that hunter in the suit lose you."

Dean choked off a moan at the thought of Sam, shoving at Hanten as his mind started to cloud over rapidly. He reached out for his gun, knowing it was out of reach but he had to do something to prevent himself from becoming the next person whoring themselves out before dropping dead on the street.

"Fifteen miles out along the old ranch road, before you reach the farms, there should be the body of Stephan Brook. Take it back to his father's house and burn it. One of you hunters said that would work but he didn't make it before Seth and Kaz caught on to his plan. If he was wrong, you'll just be another person who couldn't help me see Sara again."

Dean was gasping and torn between struggling to get away and writhing for more touch, only hearing half of the words as he threw his head back into the floor again from frustration. He felt as if he were drowning under the burn of the fingers digging into his skin, the pin pricks of pain and need settling low in his mind and nesting in his subconscious. When he finally found enough air to cry out, Hanten had vanished, leaving him to roll onto his side and off his aching shoulder.

The effects of what Hanten did to him dulled inside him before gradually building again, the itch to satisfy something crawling deep under his skin, changing back and forth from a dull throb to a raging need that he just had to scratch. Dean swore under his uneven breathing, managing to move just enough to grab his gun before resting his forehead against the cool metal of the balcony's railing. The crowd moshing below went quiet suddenly, the music muffled enough to grab Dean's attention from the feeling of a million tiny pinpricks of lust and heat abusing his body.

A loud authoritative voice calling over the crowd and the sight of his brother busting in and flashing his badge made a low keening sound of Sam's name slip from Dean's lips. His hand moved down under him to cup his rapidly filling cock, the realizations he had at the diner rising to the forefront of his mind and making his hips buck into his palm. He bit his lip hard, wanting nothing more than to feel Sam fuck up into him just on the right side of brutal, to feel the sweet burn and ache of being stretched out on Sam's cock and used by Sam until he was practically gagging for his own release.

"Son of a bitch." Dean groaned more from pleasure than anger, forcing himself onto his feet and using the railing to keep him from collapsing to his knees and begging for Sam to fuck him into the floor.

\---

Sam had to throw him out of the employee’s only door, half for show and half to keep Dean from completing his mission to disrobe Sam as quickly as possible. He watched Dean stumble backwards and catch himself on the opposite wall, his chin falling to his chest as he panted like he was getting off on Sam throwing him around and the toss had hurt more than it should have.

“Dean, what the hell happened? You were only in there for twenty five minutes!” Sam shut the door behind them and moved to pin his brother to the brick wall before he could recover enough to make another lunge for him. Dean’s hands shot out to hook his thumbs into the belt loops of Sam’s jeans, yanking Sam hard enough to force their hips together before he groaned and ground his desperately into Sam’s.

“Met Kyle Hanten.” Dean choked out, barely able to force himself into thinking in words other than ‘more’, ‘please’, and ‘Sam’. He moved to kiss along Sam’s neck, moaning in disappointment when his brother moved out of reach to prevent him from adding to the wet hickeys he had already littered down that beautiful neck.

“He’s a Deildegast.” Sam paused to grab Dean’s hands when they moved to fumble with his belt buckle, nearly succeeding in slipping the leather through the metal before his wrists were seized and dragged upward. “He’s been infecting people with ghost sickness. Did he grab you?”

“Forced me to the ground, a lot like how I wish you where doing right now.” Dean flicked open one of the buttons on the plaid button up shirt, breath hitching at the sight of more of Sam’s skin. “Wanted to get help but they kept dying.”

Sam pulled his brother’s hands up higher once his fingers started to slide into his shirt to run across any bare skin reachable, pinning his arms above his head without thinking. Dean’s lips parted as he moaned breathlessly at the position and how Sam was forced to pin him down with his weight, his words slurring slightly as if he were drunk but he didn’t reek of alcohol anymore than usual.

“God, it feels like there’s a million knives inside me but all I want to do is get fucked.” Dean groaned, trying to twist his wrists out of Sam’s hold and down to tug off his belt again. “Please, Sammy.”

“Dean…” Sam was forced to swallow down his libido, honestly wondering if the ghosts were trying to kill them both from making him have to deny Dean. No matter how much he craved to give in and give Dean what he was begging for, he knew he couldn’t. “What did Hanten want? What did he tell you? Dean!”

He shook Dean a bit, noticing that he was no longer listening to him. His gaze was transfixed on Sam’s half hard cock like he’d trade all the pie in the city for a chance to rip open the fly of Sam’s jeans to just see it right then. Dean’s eyes slowly moved back up to his, clouded with lust and making it obvious that getting through to Dean by yelling was becoming less of an option as the ghost sickness wore on.

Sam licked his lips before giving in and crowding into Dean’s space, no longer keeping a good few inches between them while he switched tactics. He could feel Dean’s chest rising and falling with his heavy panting, the hitch in his breath, so similar to the ones he heard on the long nights when there wasn’t an open bar for miles, echoing right next to his ear as he let his hot breath slide across Dean’s neck.

“I won’t give you anything if you don’t tell me, Dean.” Sam brushed his lips against the parted pleading ones in front of him, the light touch making Dean go lax in his hold and his bow legs spread more to accommodate the leg slipping between his to press into his throbbing confined cock. “Think for me.”

Dean’s breathing picked up, panting harder as he tried to lean into the light touch and force it into one of the heated kisses Sam had given him earlier. Sam leaned away before he could, nipping at the labret just under his lip in retaliation for attempting. He closed his eyes, resting his head against the brick wall behind him and waiting only to feel Sam’s soft lips parted against his and still just barely there. A shiver went down his spine, making his cock twitch as he felt Sam’s thigh shift against him but not creating enough friction to relieve him of the painful urge to come and beg and fuck.

“I really can’t think like this, Sammy.” Dean breathed, Sam’s name falling from his lips like a soft prayer as he tried to push past the thick fog inside his mind and the building pressure of blind need for anything and everything Sam. He could feel what ever Hanten had put inside him, infected him with. It was curling around deeply suppressed feelings he had just shoved back down that morning without incident and yanking them back up to the surface with nearly physical force that felt like claws cleaving through his skin.

It felt like he could make it right with just one more kiss from Sam, undo everything if he just lay down and let Sam have him. Under the heavy layer of lust and the urge to fuck though, he could feel the wrongness of several needle-like pinpricks burrowing under his skin and it hurt just enough for him to be aware of it. He clenched his fists in Sam’s hold, trying to ignore that everywhere Sam touched the pain fled, only to leave him craving more relief from the underlying pain and the consuming desire eating away at him.

He moaned loudly when Sam finally leaned in and kissed him, his mouth hot on his and he didn’t need much persuasion before he parted his lips and let Sam’s tongue tangle with his own in a way they were both becoming quickly accustomed to.

Dean tried to chase Sam’s lips when the kiss ended too soon for his liking, opening his eyes to meet Sam’s hazel ones. He was mesmerized by the intensity of lust present in them but even that was overshadowed by the worry lining his brother’s face.

The longer they stood there, the worse it became to think clear. Only once or twice he could actually feel the pain inside him and it became less noticeable as seconds ticked by but he knew it had to still be there, carving up him from the inside out while he writhed under his brother. At least it would make his ride down justified.

“Dean?” Sam looked panicked now and Dean didn’t know how he looked but he was guessing somewhere between an animal in heat and a drug addict looking for his next hit. He swallowed hard before closing his eyes and tilting his head back, fighting to think back to what was minutes before but felt like ages now.

“Fifteen? He said fifteen miles out. Out along…Fuck, Sam, I can’t do this…” Dean groaned, hearing the blood rushing in his ears as his breath hitched painfully from the lack of more skin on skin contact. “I’m going to kill that son of a bitch…Old ranch road…there’s a…a body.”

Dean felt himself go lax again, his knees going out on him when he felt Sam’s lips brushing against his bared neck. Sam caught him before he could slide to the concrete, the urge to grind his hips into Sam’s heated touch too great for him to ignore. He arched his back and swore loudly when Sam cupped his aching cock through the denim of his jeans, so desperate that even the smallest grope from Sam could make him nearly come in his pants.

“Burn it at Mr. Brook’s home. God, that’s all. Please, Sammy. Want you to fuck me!”

Dean dived for another kiss but Sam spun him around and slammed him against the wall roughly before he could get another taste of him on his lips. He moaned loudly, bucking his hips against Sam’s as his hands were pulled behind him. His moan turned into a disappointed groan when he felt cool metal click around his wrists, knowing he couldn’t reach out and touch Sam while handcuffed but a quiet part of him that was growing startlingly louder made him moan at being bound under Sam with no other choice but to take everything Sam was willing to give him.

“Sorry, Dean.” Sam muttered, swallowing down his own arousal as he manhandled his desperately horny brother into walking in the direction of the Impala. He ignored the small breathy noises leaving Dean’s lips and the fact that the only way to convince him into getting in the car instead of fucking on the hood was to mention being in a cramped space together.

Instead he chose to focus more on trying to figure out where a body would be along a stretch of road for twenty seven years, a bunch of panicked punks probably didn’t even think to give Stephan Brook a proper burial so it was going to take a while to find it if he didn’t focus on something other than his hormone crazed older brother begging for him to fuck him hard, fast, and dirty.

It didn’t help that Dean had a mouth on him that could twist words in ways that would make his dirtiest fantasies seem tame and seasoned hookers blush. It was even worse that he wasn’t afraid to make use of his talents to the point where Sam debated gagging him if he didn’t have anything other than his aching hard on to do it with.

\---

"Aw, you son of a bitch!" Dean shouted from the inside the locked Impala, writhing in the worsening mixture of pleasure and pain as the cuffs restraining him from touching himself rubbed angry bruises into his wrists. He smacked his feverish forehead onto the side window as he grunted and groaned in two kinds of frustration, opening his eyes for a moment to catch sight of Sam shoving a shovel into the ground of the ditch below again.

Sam had been at it for nearly an hour now, only stopping from his search when he heard Dean's moans dip too far into the pain spectrum to hover worriedly by his side and touch him lightly in places to check his pulse. Dean reveled in the soft touch against his skin when he could, the pain lessening each time with every touch and comforting word Sam uttered to calm him down. Had he been able to spare enough brain power to think straight, Dean might not have noticed the hitch in Sam's breath when he lunged forward to suck another obvious mark into his neck each time Sam came too close to him or lingered too long.

As far as he could tell, Sam had only found the skull of Stephan Brook but the rest of the remains where scattered or done in from thirty years of sediment, weather, and starving animals. Sam had refused to give in though, checking the time often and mentioning quietly that Dean might have at least two hours more before he was fucked and not in the way he'd been begging Sam for.

Sam threw off his shirt after a few more minutes of digging, the cool night air not enough to stop him from sweating through the heat of digging along the stretch of road for too long. He wiped his forehead with his shirt before tossing it on the hood of the Impala, ignoring the hungry looks Dean was giving him from inside it in favor of kicking the shovel back into the thick dirt.

After another thirty minutes, he collected up the few small bones and the skull he had found. The sinking feeling in his chest wasn't helping when he folded up the ripped remains of the bed sheets Stephan had been thrown in the ditch with into the trunk. He knew he was running out of time before Dean would be really suffering, running on the small bit of hope that returning at least part of Stephan would be enough. If it wasn't, he'd just have to find a way to make it work.

"Hey, Sammy." Dean breathed when Sam slid back behind the wheel and started the engine again. "If this goes sour, do I get a last request?" Sam let out a small laugh that died out quickly.

"It's not going to go sour and I doubt you're able to request anything more than sex like this."

"Yeah, maybe you're right." Dean writhed on the seat more, his legs spreading until one was touching Sam's. "But do me a favor and follow through with that? Might be asking a lot, but I've been thinking over it since before this stupid mess."

"Dean?"

"Can it. Don't go all chick flick on me, I don't know what I'll say to get you between my legs." Dean felt the heat flare up inside him again, the desperation hitting him like a tidal wave. "Just drive before I come in my pants, would you?"


	5. Part Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A murder comes back to haunt a punk bar in the deep underground of a heavily populated city, leading the Winchesters into a complex hunt buried in twenty seven years of vengeance and obsession. Sam and Dean will have to go undercover to dig deep into the past of this case, but will they be able to cope when they discover more than just the reason why someone or something is killing every punk in town?

\---

The Brook house was different when they pulled up in the Impala, the frigid air closer to the small house turning colder as Sam helped Dean out of the car. Dean was less grope friendly now, the pain starting to overwhelm the pleasure and spike repeatedly in his lower abdomen and thighs when he moved to do even the smallest of motions. Even drawing breath shot sharp points of agony through his lower body. Sam put an arm around his waist, holding him up and helping him walk while he carried Stephan Brook’s remains in his other arm.

Dean collapsed just up the stairs to the doorway, the handcuffs straining against his wrists as he attempted to hold his stomach as he retched onto the wooden porch. Sam crouched down beside him, rubbing circles into his brother’s back with his free hand, knowing that it wouldn’t help but he had to do something. He tried not to think too hard on it as Dean started coughing up a long strand that was too thick and too white to be spit.

Dean grimaced from the taste of it, bitter and reminiscent of back alleys and truck stops when low on cash-

“Please don’t tell me that is what I think it is.” He kept his eyes shut, his voice hoarse as he spit the last of what was in his mouth onto the porch. Sam didn’t stop rubbing his back, his silence his answer. “Oh, that’s just nasty. I don’t even know whose it is!”

“I think I might.” Sam listened to Dean catch his breath back, only coughing twice more before it passed. “A lot of the victims went through the same symptoms of ghost sickness. Usually the infected die in a similar way as the ghost had in the past…I think you’re going through how the punks killed Stephan since they infected you.”

“Fuck, that’s just wrong.” Dean winced as he stood before an arm was around his waist again and his weight was leaning on Sam once more. “We better get moving before something else leaks out of me. I do not want an in depth playback.”

Sam nodded, wanting to give Dean a reassuring smile but he couldn’t find it in him.

He picked the lock as Dean leaned heavily against the wall, looking half drunk and half way to passing out from pain, eyes glassy and lips pressed together, obviously biting back any noise his condition was causing him. Sam swallowed when he glanced over at him, and he would have told Dean to go wait back in the Impala - if he hadn’t been so scared that if he did, he’d come back to a dead brother. He was not going to let that happen. Dean was visibly shaking and having difficulty holding himself up, his arms getting limper and limper until the cuffs were digging into his skin beyond the point of discomfort.

“Still with me, Dean?” Sam breathed quietly as he was finally able to pick open the lock and unlock the door, collecting Stephan’s bones from where he set them at his feet. He looked up to see Dean swaying a little, his breath coming in uneven gasps like he was hyperventilating before his knees gave out from under him. “Dean? Hey!”

“Sam…” Dean’s unfocused eyes stared beyond Sam as his fingers dug into his shoulder. His breath gasped out in a cold cloud, the air frigid around them enough to send a shiver up Sam’s spine as well as shake his hunter’s instinct awake. “One of ‘em.”

The wood of the door broke easily from the force with which Sam was thrown through it, splinters littering the entryway of the Brook’s home as Stephan’s bones tumbled free from the confines of the blanket and clattered to the floor. Sam groaned, wincing as he struggled to get up when a heavy booted foot came stomping down on his neck to pin him. A choked sound escaped him and he managed to glance up from the corner of his eye to see the spiked green and black hair, blue eyes, and snake bite piercings of the long dead Seth Patricks.

“You’re not destroying my family, hunter.” Seth’s boot pressed down harder on his neck, making Sam grunt in pain as he struggled to get a good enough grip on the Deildegast to throw him off. His neck strained as the heavy boot twisted it into an uncomfortable position, a bit more force and Sam knew his neck would snap from Seth’s supernatural strength. “Hanten didn’t say there were two of you. I knew it was a little strange that one infected hunter managed to find Stephan’s bones and bring them here without falling victim to need.”

“What should I do with the sick one?” A feminine voice called out from just out of Sam’s line of sight. Seth turned to look toward it’s source, the twist of his leg making the steel toe of the boot dig painfully into the hallow just under Sam’s chin.

“Speed him along, Kaz. I don’t want to be here all night.”

“Dean?!” Dean could barely make out that Sam was shouting for him, his whole body wracked with shivers. He couldn’t make himself focus on anything but the blinding white hot pain spreading through out his body, his body convulsing with his nausea each time it hit.

His eyes felt wet when he was suddenly grabbed by the chin and forced to look up, meeting curly ginger hair and enough piercings to just barely hide a beautiful woman Dean might have looked twice at in other circumstances. Her nails dug painfully into his skin as she flashed him a shy smile, the heat of her touch less painful than the scrape of knifes inside him. Dean couldn’t even find breath enough to cry out as the pain doubled, nearly choking when the tang of blood entered his mouth and spilled across his lips in a sea of red that painted her pale hand the same color.

“Dean!” Sam couldn’t hear anything from his brother, panic seizing him and he struggled under Seth. They shouldn’t have listened to Hanten. Seth’s lips were curling into a smirk like he had planned this, just let another set of hunters fall into their twenty seven year trap like it was a game.

Sam gasped heavily when Seth’s boot was ripped from his neck, the thud of Seth hitting the floor beside him loud in the otherwise quiet room. He turned in time to see Hanten struggling to keep Seth pinned, the shock on Seth’s face quickly turning to rage.

“Burn the bones in his blood!”

“Hanten, you traitor! We’re family!” Seth kicked at Hanten as Sam hurried to his feet, looking towards the doorway in time to see Dean slump over to the side as if he were boneless. Kaz was stepping away from him, hand clenched to her chest as she stared at the two ghosts fighting on the floor like she had forgotten about Sam and Dean.

“No, we’re not! You took me away from Sara when she needed me. It’s your fault we’re in this mess!”

“I didn’t kill that kid alone. And as I recall, you wanted him as much as we did.”

“Stop it!” Kaz screamed out at them, looking lost as she stepped off the porch, distancing herself from them as much as she could. Sam grabbed Stephan’s bones as quickly as he could, feeling a pinch of pity in his chest as he passed Kaz without her so much as noticing. He knelled beside Dean to search for his brother’s lighter inside his leather jacket, unnerved by Dean’s unresponsiveness.

“But Stephan wanted you! Not us, Seth. You let him hurt Kaz! You didn’t tell us you drugged him. You didn’t tell us it was rape then you made us kill him so we wouldn’t go to jail for Sara’s sake!” Hanten took a punch to the face, choking Seth in response though it did nothing more than keep him pinned. “Just because you can’t deal with your real family doesn’t mean you can create some fucking patchwork one to drag down with you! You promised to take care of us then forced us into this!”

“You never complained! Not once!” Seth snarled, kicking Hanten in the chest and forcing him off him.

“Well, consider this thirty two years worth of complaining, asshole.”

Seth raised an eyebrow before glancing over at Sam cradling Dean to his chest, the click and flame of Dean’s lighter catching his eye just before Stephan’s bones were lit in the puddle of blood on the wood of the porch.

The three Deildegast went up in flames and high pitched shrieks, leaving behind small licks of fire in their wake.

Sam let out a heavy exhale, pulling Dean farther away from the burning bone and blood slowly seeping into the wood of the porch. He leaned back against the wood railing, letting himself relax slightly when he found Dean’s pulse, steady and ever present as Dean’s panting slowed into an unconscious breathing pattern.

If it weren’t for the blood smeared across Dean’s chin and his jacket, he might have thought Dean had just passed out from a few beers like the long nights in hotel rooms with no hunt prospects in sight. He stayed there, clutching Dean to his chest with his nose buried in his brother’s hair, until the flames dwindled and flickered out to leave large burn marks on wood and carpet.

—-

When Dean stirred from unconsciousness, he felt like a truck driven by strippers had hit him, the ache in his bones making an unpleasant combination with the build up of lust finally taking over the forefront of his mind again. It was still a relief, the overpowering stabbing feeling of pain no longer present in his body though he could still taste the copper of his own blood in his mouth.

He groaned as he stretched out, trying to ease the ache a bit and roll onto his back before he realized he could feel the shift of cloth over and under him. Cracking open an eye, he was met with the ceiling of their motel room and the sight of linen sheets wrapped around him. Dean closed his eyes and relaxed more, enjoying the brush of the linen against his naked skin as he started to slide back into the need to get off and soon. He didn’t even think to stop as he heard the motel room door open and shut.

“Sam?” Dean felt a warm hand on his forehead after he breathed his brother’s name, opening his eyes to see Sam hovering over him with a small smile on his face. “Did we gank the bastards?”

“Yeah, we did.” Sam took his hand away, making Dean groan at the loss of touch and arch up to follow it. Sam shifted slightly from his spot on the side of the bed, ignoring how Dean’d been staring at him like a fresh piece of pie for the better part of an hour but he couldn’t stop himself from getting hard no matter what he tried to focus on. “You’ve been a bit feverish though. Seems like the ghost sickness isn’t leaving all at once but you’re getting better.”

Dean sat up, not missing how Sam was looking at him back. He leaned in a little too close, his bare chest resting against Sam’s arm as he kissed the shirt covering his shoulder lightly.

“How long have I been out?” Dean kissed upward, moaning slightly when Sam moved his arm to wrap it around his waist. “And more importantly, why am I naked?”

“You were overheating in your clothes. And they were covered in blood.” Sam felt Dean hum a noncommittal answer into his neck as he kissed him, making him feel like he could have said that he just wanted Dean naked and his brother would accepted it. “You’ve been in and out of it for about an hour.”

“That long enough for me to give my consent?”

“Dean.” Sam sighed, moving away slightly but not enough to discourage Dean from moving up to tug on his earlobe with his teeth.

“Come on, Sammy. I give a mean blowjob, so long as you promise to fuck me after.” Dean slid his hand up Sam’s thigh, groaning when he found Sam was hard as a rock in his jeans. “Know how you sound, Sammy. Wanna hear how loud you can get when fucking me. Need to hear it.”

“Dean, you’re still infected. It’s not you talking.” Sam was trying really hard to be the responsible one, knowing Dean was probably still an hour away from coherent thoughts. He just had to hold out past Dean practically humping his leg, even if the hand palming his cock through thick denim was tempting as fuck.

“Need you, Sam.” Dean tossed off the sheets, crawling into Sam’s lap and groaning, disappointed at how the denim prevented him from being able to climb right onto Sam’s cock. “Thought it over in that damn diner all morning. I got so distracted that I ordered that shitty strawberry coffee.”

“That explains your sudden overnight change from black to flavored and sugar and milk.” Sam rested his hands on Dean’s lower back, the lips he’d fantasized about only an inch away from his and so willing to be kissed. Dean’s bare ass rubbing against the tent in his jeans wasn’t helping him think about waiting either.

“Tattooed your name on my ass, I didn’t give a second though to it. Maybe I should make it perm-“

“Dean, shut up.” Sam grabbed the back of Dean’s head, yanking him into a searing kiss without so much a thought to the metallic taste in his mouth as he bit at Dean’s lips lightly. When Dean parted his lips, Sam immediately did his best to shove his tongue down his throat as Dean tangled his fingers in his hair.

Dean cried out into the kiss when Sam suddenly wrapped a hand around his cock, jacking it twice before using his weight to shove Dean onto the bed. The kiss picked up like it hadn’t stopped when Sam moved to sit between Dean’s spread legs, sucking down and enjoying every cry, moan, and hitch of Dean’s breath as he stroked his cock with sharp flicks of his wrist. Dean wrapped his legs around Sam’s waist, thrusting up into his brother’s tight grip with abandon as he quickly lost the fight of control over himself.

Sam was practically fucking his mouth with his tongue, calloused hands feeling like heaven on his cock and groping his ass as his begging to come was lost in the tangle of their tongues in his mouth. Dean arched his back when he felt himself closing in on his orgasm, the rough denim of Sam’s jeans uncomfortable rubbing against his skin but he cared more about how Sam was grinding desperately against his ass than the discomfort right now.

When Sam broke off their kiss to bite at Dean’s neck, he couldn’t hold back. He was trapped between the need to thrust up into Sam’s fist and to grind down on the bulge of Sam’s cock as he came, his hands clenched in the fabric of Sam’s shirt as he stained it.

“Sam, Sam, Sammy…fuck!” Sam bit his own lip as he heard his own name breathed out in a harsh moan before that tell tale hitch in Dean’s breath that he knew he was going to be jerking off to from that day forward. He buried his face into Dean’s neck, kissing it and knowing that he was far from done with his brother when Dean’s cock didn’t soften a bit in his hand.


	6. Finale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A murder comes back to haunt a punk bar in the deep underground of a heavily populated city, leading the Winchesters into a complex hunt buried in twenty seven years of vengeance and obsession. Sam and Dean will have to go undercover to dig deep into the past of this case, but will they be able to cope when they discover more than just the reason why someone or something is killing every punk in town?

\---

"Oh fuck!" Dean's fists clutched at the sheets of the bed as Sam slid a second finger inside of him, the burn equally from the stretch and the warming lube that Dean was definitely going to question Sam about when he didn't have two fingers trying to rub it into his prostate. It felt good, just on the right side of unbearable as Sam slowly circled his hole before gently thrusting his fingers back inside to stretch him more.

He groaned, turning his head to the side to bare his neck as Sam's gradual nips moved upward, teeth catching on his throat and leaving behind them a flourish of marks that wouldn’t be fading for a long time. A hand pushed his thighs wider as Sam's fingers pushed deeper, the pace slow and languid since Sam knew he was about three seconds away from dry humping the bed for something to be in him.

When he breathed out Sam's name, the touch disappeared for a moment, leaving him moaning at the ghostly heated touch the lube left behind. Dean arched his back at the fingers that slipped inside of him with another added, his eyes rolling back as he bucked back into the slick warm touch, desperate for more, his breath hitching with each stretch.

He groaned when Sam pulled back, slipping his fingers out of Dean to throw off his shirt and fumble to unbutton his jeans, the combination of them being slick with lube and shaking slightly with lust making it take longer than it should have. Dean caught the sight of skin just under the denim as Sam let his jeans sag slightly, tangling a hand in Sam's hair and dragging him up for a deep kiss when he felt Sam's arms slide under his thighs and grip his back tightly.

"Sammy, fuck!" Dean bit Sam's lip lightly as he felt himself manhandled and lifted up until his back pressed into the wall beside the bed, grinning distractedly when he felt Sam's fingers trace where the tattoo of his name marked his skin. "Should keep that."

"Like having my name on you." Sam balanced Dean's weight in his arms as bowed legs wrapped around his waist and fingers dug into his back hard enough that he knew there would be a nice set of bruises later. He heard Dean groan when he shifted slightly, feeling a pleasant shiver shoot down his brother's spine as his dick rubbed against Sam's abs.

Dean groaned when Sam started to mouth at the piercing under his lip, the light tugs there making small pinches of pain and pressure speed up his breathing. One of Sam's hands combed through his dyed hair, messing it up before dragging down to smear the eyeliner on the corner of one of his eyes.

"Someone's got a fetish." Dean grinned, licking his lips as he shut his eyes and lost himself in the sensation of Sam’s touch. He moaned when the hand left to grab onto his hip. The tip of Sam's cock pressing against his ass made another groan leave his lips, denim brushing against his calves sending a spike of pleasure shooting down his spine at how Sam was going commando under his jeans. "Sammy, please."

Sam licked across the metal of the piercing between his teeth once more before letting it fall from his mouth, burying his face into Dean's neck as he slowly pushed inside him. He heard Dean grunt softly in his ear, fingers tightening in his hair before gradually relaxing and adjusting to the stretch and burn inside of him. Sam held himself still, the tight heat inside Dean squeezing him in the best way he'd felt as he gently shifted to get a better hold on his brother.

When Dean moaned and sought out his mouth again, Sam finally started thrusting slowly and deeply inside of Dean until he was swallowing the sharp breaths and grunts escaping between their kisses.

Dean met Sam's thrusts and slipped his tongue between Sam's parted lips, egging him on as he tried to keep himself from begging for more, harder, faster. Instead he urged him with every hard buck, rock of his hips, for more. He could feel Sam humming something close to a growl into his mouth as his hips snapped sharply into his, making Dean throw his head back as his prostate was hit dead on.

Sam spread his thighs more, holding Dean's weight as he relaxed in his arms and let Sam fuck him deep. Fingers tangled in Sam's hair as he quickened his pace, Dean moaning in his ear and making it harder to hold back from throwing him onto the bed and just fucking down into him until Dean could do nothing but call out his name with the soft hitches of breath that came so frequently when he was lost in pleasure.

Dean's cock was still hard, rubbing against his torso with each steady buck of his hips. It only took half a dozen strokes after Sam wrapped a free hand around it for Dean to tense against him and come over himself again, breathing out Sam's name like a heated prayer with each wave of his second orgasm that night.

"Fuck it." Sam moaned as he felt himself on the verge of his own orgasm, pulling Dean from the wall and tossing him onto the bed. Dean felt too overwhelmed from the pleasure still sending aftershocks through him to complain, an insult not even half formed on his lips before Sam was on him again.

Sam manhandled him until his head was resting on the cheap motel pillows, hands grabbing Dean's ass and lifting it up into the air so that most of his weight was on his shoulders. His head cleared enough to question what Sam was doing just before he noticed Sam hovering over him. He opened his mouth to speak but all that came out was a moan so loud that whoever was next door had to have heard it.

Sam shoved his cock inside him again, fucking down into him with deep sharp thrusts that left Dean clinging to the bed sheets. He grabbed Sam's ass with one hand as he felt his prostate abused with each slide of Sam's cock, pulling him closer like it was physically possible to fuck him deeper. Dean felt like he could come again, the ghost sickness making him swear under his breath for making him more sensitive than a horny teenager but Sam wasn't lightening up on the pleasure either.

"Come on, Sammy. Come on. Come in me." Dean gasped as Sam swore and panted above him. Sam fucked him hard, letting him know he was going to be sore in the morning before shoving in deep and a strangled cry of his brother's name forced its way through Dean’s gritted teeth. He groaned and squeezed Sam's ass when he felt a distinct throb within him, feeling him fill him up as satisfaction finally hit him at the warmth of Sam's come spreading inside of him.

Dean bit his lip when Sam pulled out of him, replacing his cock with two long fingers that fucked down into him. His brother wasn’t letting him relax just yet. He pushed out with his ass, feeling himself flex and almost swallow Sam's digits and warmth flooded through him at the harsh touches. His cock throbbed heavily again, making him simultaneously want to strangle the damn Deildegast that did this to him and beg Sam for more.

If he came again without a single touch, with just Sam's fingers up his ass, he knew he'd never hear the end of it. Ghost sickness or not.

Dean could hear his heartbeat in his ears as he hit his orgasm for the third time that night, almost coming dry across his chest. He damn well nearly forgot to breathe again after the shocks of pleasure shot through him, Sam's tongue laving where his fingers had just been fucking his cum into his brother. Dean shivered, his cock finally falling limp as he felt Sam's hot tongue dip into his hole to taste before pulling away and slapping his ass just enough to force a grin out of him.

"I'm definitely getting that tattoo." Dean breathed through a thoroughly fucked out smile, his voice rough to his own ears.

"Shut up." Sam grinned back at him, shifting to sit back on the bed instead of practically standing over Dean. He slowly helped Dean lay back down on the bed from his slightly awkward position, moving in to kiss up his stomach when he groaned at the soreness already settling in. "So when can I expect the incest freak out?"

"Told you. Diner, coffee, waitress wondering if I was going to hang myself in the corner booth." Dean hummed, closing his eyes as he arched his neck invitingly for Sam to leaving numerous marks on. "You?"

"You going punk, jerking off in the bathroom, and I didn't sleep at all that night." Sam brushed his nose against a hickey on Dean's neck, still hovering over Dean and just gently touching where his brother was going to have bruises and scratches in the morning. "So...We good?"

"Yeah. We're good." Dean smirked before Sam kissed him lightly, smacking his brother away after a moment. "Now come on. My ass is sore and you're holding me up in the shower."

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

\---

"Maybe I should keep one..." Metal clinked against the bottom of the sink as Dean slowly took out his nose ring, the pinna and earrings already resting against the closed drain of the sink. The color had been washed from his hair, bringing it back to the light brown it had been before their hunt and back in its usual style. Dean tongued the inside of the labret still resting under his lip, turning to Sam when he heard him by the door of the bathroom.

"I do like the labret." Sam smirked, the small bag full of their shampoos and other bathroom supplies still in his hand as he watched Dean de-punk himself.

"It'd be a pain in the ass during a fight." Dean fingered the small metal ball resting on the outside, feeling Sam invade his space while he imagined how much damage the piercing would cause if it was ripped out. "Could take it out during hunts, I guess. Shouldn't heal over too fast."

"See." Sam leaned in when Dean turned to face him, kissing Dean before moving back to nip at the labret. "You can keep it."

"Get packing. I'll think about it." Dean shoved Sam lightly, softening the blow with a short press of his lips to Sam's again. He walked over to his own duffel, keeping the labret in his lip as he shoved his own things inside it. They had another hunt lined up and important things to do, a lot of driving while sitting on a sore ass that Dean wasn't looking forward to, but they probably needed to actually sit down and talk about this...thing between them at some point.

Then again, the quicky Sam dragged him into an hour later off Route 66 was making it difficult to protest. That and the sex after Dean slipped out of a tattoo parlor a few weeks later, fresh ink twisted into tribal curves of three little letters on his lower back.

\---

End


End file.
